Fight Club
by DivineRose2392
Summary: Hit me with your best shot, I dare you. POW!


My mother doesn't know about this. My older brother doesn't know about it; he's in college, so he wouldn't care. My father…like I care. My chocolate Labrador was the only one who knows. His green eyes stare at me as I pack my "overnight" bag for my "friend's house". His ears are perking up curiously but knowingly of where I was going, but wondering what I will be doing tonight. His deadly tail was wagging back and forth, sweeping up the dead skin cells that have fallen and be forever forgotten, leaving that spot the only clean space.

_Sleep over? _says my dog. He rolls his giant green eyes at me. _Have fun "studying". _

I glare at him. What a sarcastic, wise-ass dog you are.

I should throw him one of those bones that are bigger than he is. He keeps my secret. He deserves it.

As I approach the front door, my mother appears in the foyer. She is always questioning me before I go out. Might as well send her off to Wonderland where she can join curious Alice. While opening the front door, letting February's cool wind kiss my skin, she asks, "How did you get that bruise on your arm?"

Gym class.

Kay, talk to you later. Love you. Goodbye. Peace out. Catch you on the flip side.

I slam the front door and get into my midnight blue Acura. Sorry, Mom, but I took P.E. Freshmen year. She still believes that I'm taking it. I told her that it was mandatory to take it all four years in high school. I told her that after I got a black eye two years ago. It was _easy _to stare into her chocolate pools for eyes and lie to her.

Thank God I didn't get her eyes.

I got my dad's baby blues. They're supposed to stand for truth. I guess God made me different then. I didn't know if I was the chosen one or the reject. The white rosary that was hanging around my rearview mirror was swinging back and forth like a pendulum as I speed down Atonement Street. Jesus has his eyes upon me the whole drive, cursing me for lying.

Don't give me that look. Where I'm going is related to Gym class.

_Liar, _Jesus says, _but God bless you, my lovely child!_

I scowl at it. My foot, maybe it was intended, presses down onto the gas pedal, and I fly right through the yellow light just turning red. It was actually orange, not red. The colors of the traffic lights paint onto the shiny concrete road, making it look like I was driving on a rainbow. The colors look oily and slick. It gives me another reason to speed. When am I ever going to speed on a rainbow?

I pull up to the empty warehouse. No, wait, I think it was an asylum. Or maybe it was a construction building. College dorms. It was all of those. It soon became an empty warehouse. It became my second home. I skid into an empty parking spot next to a gleaming silver Volvo. I take the rosary that is glaring at me, and stuff it into my already cluttered glove box. I have tests from last year in there, along with hand sanitizer, my registration for my car, and a smashed box of tissues. Jesus gives me a sad look before I close the glove box up. Sorry, God, but I can't have you present this time. It's too unholy, even for you. I grab what was supposed to be an over night bag, and bail out of my car.

I lock my car by actually sticking the key in the keyhole on the car door, and turning it, instead of using the clicker for it. I could've used the clicker, but I didn't want the loud BEEP sound to go off. No one should know if you arrive. They'll lose their concentration. My steps make a sloppy sound as they drag on the ground. I approach the rusty door; the handle was begging to come off. But I couldn't save it. Not tonight anyway. I knock twice on the door and wait.

No one came.

I then look at the depressed box on the wall. The buzzer. It was my only chance of getting in. I press the faded red button. There was a burst of static that came out of it, then a deep voice asking, "Who goes there?"

"You're mother," I growl.

"One second, _Mother._"

It was extremely cold out tonight. My breath was visible as I exhale. My legs were shaking, and my head was throbbing. It was getting frostbite. Sometimes I hate living on the east coast of New Jersey. The rusty door creaks open and I enter.

"EVERYONE IS HERE!" yells the young man. That was right in my ear.

The hallway is lit with dim headlights that only lit up small pools of spotlights onto the floor. As the young man stepped into the spotlight, I recognize him. I think his name is Ice King. Yet, at school, he sits diagonal from me in English AP. He is known as Roxas there. "Tiger Lily is here!"

My name changes every time I come here. Last week it was Pale Indian Who Can Run Fast. The week before that it was Kitty Kat. But before Kitty Kat, it was Snicker Doodle. So some call me Snickers. It's better than Kitty Kat at least. My name isn't Kitty, and it definitely wasn't Kat. I don't even like cats. I don't even get to choose my alias.

IK drifts down the halls, only to be lit up as he went under the dim headlights. Did he dye his hair? It was blonde last week, and now it's a dirty blonde. Maybe it's just the lighting. I always feel like I was in a basement of a hospital with these lights. I bet you a million bucks that one day, some zombie is going to appear out of nowhere and kill me. I can't wait to be the star of that horror film. It always smells like dead bodies in here. I am completely serious. As I follow IK down the hall, my nostrils begin to suffocate. My taste buds are covered in taste of the scent. It made me gag. I rush past IK and make it into the locker room. It isn't any better in here, but I'm able to breathe.

The locker room was redone months ago by our group. The tile has blood stains on it that we didn't bother to wash out. Walls are covered with graffiti with our club name on it, along with posters for upcoming tournaments that no one cared about. There are even I love you notes on the wall, and I get blamed for putting them up there. The room smells like men's sweat, men's body spray, and men's dirty, _dirty _underwear. I see a locker open with a pair of socks hanging out. I believe those are The Silent Ninja's socks.

We never use our real names. We create a new identity just like you do with an Etch-a-Sketch. You erase your crappy drawing, and make a crappier drawing. But we are allow to erase it like _that. _It was magic. I put my bag down onto the bench and start to swap out clothes. I go from being covered, to almost bare. I pull on a pair of shorts that went up to mid-thigh, and then pull a sports bra over my bra.

If you haven't guessed, I'm a girl. The only girl here. And I will tell you one thing: there is still a bruise on my left breast from two weeks ago. I got kicked there. I wasn't a female wrestler. Don't ever compare me to _them. _They aren't even real. Their chest isn't even real. The idea of getting your breasts inflated with silicone and making them bigger than your head is sickening. All they really want to do is expose themselves on television and get men. My breasts are one-hundred percent real and natural, thank you very much. At least I don't have to worry about leaks or pops. We don't tolerate that kind of stuff around here. We know how to fight. We don't stage our fights.

I pull the tape out of my bag and start to wrap it around my palm, weaving it around my fingers until it almost covered my knuckles completely. I did the same with my feet, carefully wrapping it around my left ankle that was slightly swollen. I actually hurt myself outside of here, so none of the boys hurt me. I fell down some steps the other day at school, because a wasp was flying around my head, and I didn't pay attention—

The locker room door opens, and in walks Stalker. His nose is bleeding heavily. It drips onto the floor, almost creating a mini lake of it. He goes into the bathroom/shower room. I hear the faucet turn on, and him moaning and groaning. I get up, and walk over to him; the tile was freezing and stung my semi-bare feet.

"Hey, Snickers," he groans. He splashes some water onto his face and grabs a bunch of paper towels. He tilts his head back, and almost smothers his nose with the towels. Water drips onto his buffed out chest and drips onto his pants. It looks like he just peed himself. "Are you fighting tonight?"

I give a slight nod. He gives a thumbs up. "Cool. I'll be there."

"Do you know who I'm fighting tonight?" I ask. He shakes his head, his silver hair shaking ferociously with each turn. "Lovely."

"Good luck."

I just feign a smile and go back into the locker room. I begin to do some yoga poses that I see my mom doing every Tuesday after work. I can feel my spine stretch and some of my joints pop. It feels good to stretch, but I feel pain in places that I didn't know existed. I sit on the cold floor, and spread my legs apart. I bent forward, and grab the ends of my feet. Oh yeah, this was painful, but my back was feeling better. I pay attention only to the rhythm of my breathing.

Silence is golden.

The door opens. In walks the one boy I didn't want to see tonight. He smirks at me; a twinkle comes to his stormy blue eyes. I look up at him from the odd angle that I'm in and gave me a, "What the hell do you want?" look. He broke my concentration.

"Hello, Kai," he greets.

Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver.

"Where were you last week?"

I stare at the floor. My arms start to feel stretched. Breathe in and breathe out.

"Funeral," I mutter. It was true. My ancient grandfather finally past on. I love him and all, but it was about time he moved on. If I went out that night, my mom would've flipped her lid, and ground me for life. I didn't need to be stuck in the house. I have too much rage built up.

"Hurry up. You're the last one to go."

Everyone else went already?

"You need to make up for last week. We missed you."

I've known this kid for fourteen years. He's in all of my classes and he lives four houses down from me. He has an above average IQ, and yet he gets his brains knocked out every weekend. His face doesn't even look damaged. No bruises or scratches. No black eyes or missing teeth. Though his front right tooth had a cap on it thanks to me; I roundhouse kicked him in the face. He never told me what he told his parents or his dentist. He was on the soccer team at school, the star player. Yeah, he was athletic and smart, I'll give him that, but I was always his competition. He's met his match. I haven't fought him in over two months.

As I stood up, I hear him sigh. He runs his hand through his hair that was the color of the fluffy chocolate in a 3 Musketeers bar. Stalker stumbles out of the bathroom with a paper towel in his hand. He looks at me, gives a nod, and then leaves. I pull my arm behind my head; my free hand is gripping my elbow that was pointing up in the air. I still need to stretch.

My eyes drift onto his bare chest. I watch it move up and down as he breathes. Breathe in. Breathe out. "Be out there in five, 'kay?" He has pale skin but a James Bond body. Smokin'. Hot.

I nod to him.

"Give me a moment," I say as I eyed his dark blue jeans. He has big feet. His eyes look me up and down, like he was searching for my soul. That's if I have one. Good luck finding it. He then stared at the bruise just above my breast. "Sora—"

"Okay, I'm leaving."

It was okay to use actual names when you're alone with one other person inside a room. When using a real name, it tells that you're being drop dead serious. I want him to leave. To get out. I still need to stretch. He presses his bandaged hand against the door. I switch arms. Our eyes connect once more.

Leave.

Get out.

I was so angry at him. I didn't know why. Rage was burning—no, scorching—inside of my chest, traveling down to my ribs and spreading it through there like wild fire in a forest. He leaves. I wasn't quite ready yet. I still need to stretch for another ten minutes.

My other nickname was Kai. But I usually had to stick with Snickers or the name I somehow obtained tonight. Kai was close to my real name. We create new names to escape the crappy lives we live now, and try to live up to our alias we get. I like becoming a different person each time. What is in a name?

Your traits.

Your reputation.

Your life.

That's what's in a name. I'm Tiger Lily tonight, so it's time to bring out the beast in me. I still don't get why the men like to give me names that have to relate to cats. Do I look like a cat? Last time I checked I didn't have a tail.

I pull my dark brown hair back in a ponytail. My bangs fall in front of my face; what's the use of trying to pull them back? They will just keep falling, just like my confidence.

This club started when I was getting picked on in Gym class Freshmen year. I got so pissed at the fat kid who was making fun of me that I ended up socking him in the face. He had a black eye, a lost tooth, and bloody nose. He always said I was no good. Useless. Afraid of the ball. If a ball is coming at you at an incredible speed, you dodge it. He said I was a wimp. A cute joke, saying that they should go easy on my team because they had me. What he didn't know was that I did dance for twelve years. Have you ever felt a dancer's foot kick you the face? I know what pain feels like. I started to take fencing lessons six years ago. I was used to dodging anything that flew straight towards me.

I remember being so angry that day when I punched Fatty. I just wanted to fight more people. What I should've done was try out for the wrestling team or start a kickboxing team. I went up to Sora, ready to choke him because I was still mad, and told him that we should start a fighting club.

I've never seen so many boys gape in their life. I've never had so many boys be afraid of me. Even the coach was impressed of what damage I did. Sure, I got a week worth of suspension, but it was totally worth it. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I should take the teasing and torturing like a man to prove myself strong. Whoever said violence wasn't the answer should rethink that statement.

I took off all of my jewelry. Boys usually don't wearing their shirts. Shoes and gloves were not allowed. You must have pants on. I was allowed to wear what I want because, in a room full of boys, they would agree with anything that has to deal with women's clothing and how you dress.

Don't push your luck, boys.

I exit the room without even thinking. I can hear the boy's conversation echo down the hallway from the room. The words aren't clear, but I know that they were waiting for me. As I walk down Carcass Hall, I think of how I should turn back and hide in the locker room. I want to fight—I have the rage, the ambition—but I was scared. Scared that this night I will see—whoever I was fighting—as my father.

I enter the room. It gets hot quickly in the room. It went from February's snow fest to July's sickening hot summer. I begin to feel sick. The boys whoop and holler as I step in the center of the circle they made by standing around. That will soon break. They know that. I never stay in the circle when I fight. I go all over the room. The beast that is ripping apart my thoracic cavity was growling.

A boy with crimson hair steps out of the circle and stands next to me. He has a devious smile on his face, and it was rather cunning. We call him the Ring Master. He is always the one who leads our little circus. He is the one who announces the acts and the rules.

"You know the rules, right, Kai?" he asks. He never calls me by any of my aliases. It is always Kai. His green eyes scan the room and it falls silent. He calls me by that name because he told me once that I should be true to myself and live up to my real name than hide behind the faces and the make-up full of age. He should speak for himself. The guy is a genius in school. He always reads during class. He had a new book every week. He doesn't do sports. I don't know how he ended up here. I don't remember him in my Gym class. I think he does theatre and played a carnival barker once. The guy is a freaking lunatic outside of school.

"I know the rules," I say. I fold my arms across my chest.

"We have two new people here tonight. They just came in right after you, so I'm going to explain the rules," he tells me.

But I thought everyone was here?

"We meant everyone who is here to fight tonight. These rookies can't go until they see the pros go at it."

Veteran running four years straight.

"Plus," Ring Master adds as his Cheshire Cat-like grin comes to his face, "you still have to make up for last week. No slacking." His green eyes will forever haunt me. "Gentlemen!" he yells. His voice is like silk. He is a true Ring Master. No, a Ring God. "And Miss Kai. Welcome again! I hope you enjoyed the last fight between Stalker and Lemony Snicket."

Now we're bringing authors into the fight? Oh jeez.

"But now is the event that you've been waiting for. Since Miss Kai wasn't here last week due to devastating death, we excused her. But now she has been reborn into a fighter. She's as mad as a hatter. As evil as a demon. But as strong as a woman of God."

What would Glove Boxed Jesus say right now? You have to wonder. If I still had him out, I bet he'd be trying to set the building on fire. I wasn't as mad as a hatter, not as evil as a demon, and I was not a Catholic extremist. Lies.

"Without further ado, let's bring out her challenge, shall we?"

The group of men goes crazy, like The New York Giants just won the Super Bowl. Football was a pathetic sport compare to this. Where's the danger in it? I like rugby. That's was right up there with our sport. Kudos to that for violence.

"Please welcome four year veteran," Ring Master says, his pearly whites glistening in the dim overhead lights, "General Darth Vader!"

First authors, now movie characters. What has this world come to?

My heart sank as I saw Sora step out of the crowd and step his giant foot in the center of the ring. Oh hell no. I can't fight Sora. He knows all my moves, my signals. He even knows my license plate number. I didn't even know that!

Is this what I get for missing a week because a family member dies in the family? God must really hate me. Thank God he's still in the glove box. He didn't need to be seeing this. The boys are clapping and yelling. I swear they're like a cheerleading squad.

"Rule one: can't talk about this club EVER! It's kind of like a do or die situation. You tell about is club, we'll knock the crap out of you until you lost your entire chain of memory.

"Rule two: General, Kai, and I are the only three who are allowed to recruit members. If you never been asked to come here, then get the hell out. Can't talk about this club EVER!

"Rule three: Make sure you are at least taking a sport or Gym class at your school. Or lie, whatever works. We don't want the doctors or parents to get suspicious.

"Rule four: You fight until one gives up or if someone dies. If you kill someone, you better move out of the country," Ring Master says. He has had said the rules so many times, it was programmed into his brain. It was programmed into mine too. I was the one who came up with them. "Kai, General. No deaths tonight, please. Whenever you are ready." General gives a cocky smirk. I grit my teeth; I hate it when he took way too much pride in his skills.

Ring Master steps back into the crowd of boys.

What kind of name is General Darth Vader?

"What kind of name is Tiger Lily?"

I don't know. I bet you gave it to me though.

POW!

His fist revs right into my stomach, liked a bomb dropping down on a country. I fall back on the ground. I so wasn't expecting that.

"You're getting too soft."

I spring to my feet, like an animated Japanese character in a video game. My foot comes up high, giving him a good roundhouse kick to the face. The impact my foot makes sends adrenaline through my veins. He staggers to the right, completely surprised. I've brushed up on my foot work. My feet start jumping. I feel like Muhammad Ali as I jump from left to right.

Bring it.

I'm ready.

His fist comes towards my face. I duck out of the way. If you can dodge a ball, you can fist. But he took his other fist and uppercut me right in the jaw. I hear it pop. I come back with a punch to his sternum; my fist was like a boxing glove on a spring. I hear him lose his breath. The _oof! _sound gave it away that I knocked the wind out of his chest. I then jump and did a spinning kick, knocking him right in the head. He tumbles to the ground. I could feel the inside of my cheek swell. It was throbbing, like a drummer banging on his drum, maybe even marching to his own tune.

The kick to the head must've triggered something in his nerves, like a trigger to a gun. He crouches like a cheetah ready to pounce of his prey.

He was the cheetah.

I was the defenseless zebra.

He lunges for me—he has a Spider Man leap—and tackles me to the ground. I feel a blow it my face. Stars start to come into my vision. I curl my knees. One of his fists came crashing down onto it. My feet press against his James Bond build, and I use all of my leg power to flip him over my head. I hear the boys scatter and a loud thud. Scrambling to my feet seems difficult for me. I saw that I had flipped him over too far.

He moves.

No concussion. Yet.

He grabs me by shoulders, and keeps turning me, making me dizzy. It feels like he was ready to throw me to the ground again. I grab his forearms, planting my feet onto the stone floor; I try to make him stop. Our eyes lock in the dizziness, and I did the first thing that came to mind. I throw my head back and then made it collide with his. That just causes my head to swirl. It makes him let go of me. My fist makes contact with his face. I feel my knuckles land right on his kisser. He staggers backwards. His bottom lip was busted open, yet his teeth were still intact. Blood leaks onto the floor.

His fist hits me square in the nose. It was like a hammer to the face. Another punch is forced into my stomach. I keel over, my head practically against his chest, my hands closed around his fist that's right in my stomach. Red droplets splash onto his forearm, while I felt some drip onto my head.

"Give me your best shot," he whispers in rags.

In a flash, my fist comes up and knocks him right under his chin. His head flies back and he falls to the ground. My foot jabs him in the side, and he rolls over on his side. I hear him laughing. Is he mocking me?

He stands up. His back is towards me. Cold shoulder? How childish. But he spins around, and grabs me by the head. I have never felt so much pain in my life. My head drives right into a stone pillar. It's like getting a crucifix nail driven into your skull.

White.

Hot.

Pain.

The side of my face is being pushed into the pillar. It's rubbing against it, like he is sanding down wood. I can smell his sweat and his blood. I feel my skin being torn off from my cheek. My jaw cracks again. He was acting like _him. _The beast that's roaring inside of my chest bursts out. I push him back, and start punching him. I nail him right in the stomach, actually landing a blow to his rock hard abs. I thought my hand was going to break. It feels like it was shattering into pieces.

I didn't know what came over me. I just keep landing punch after punch. I can feel tears coming to my eyes, but it blended in with the sweat. I was so angry! We start to take turns punching each other like Rock'em Sock'em Robots.

I keep seeing my father. My lame ass father who practically ripped my mother and me apart before storming out the front door. The same asshole who hit me in the head with a frying pan four years ago. The same jerk who punched my mother until she bled. But why was I so mad at the General? It didn't make sense. Is it the way he was so good at fighting like my father was? I can't tell. Today was supposed to be my parent's anniversary. This fight is for my mother.

I pull his arms back, holding onto his wrists. My foot lifts high, and slams down onto his vertebrae. He is forced to his knees, my foot remaining on his back. My foot pushes down on his back, making his arms stretch to uncomfortable lengths. I heard him let out a scream of agony. I push harder. I watch his head bow; blood drips down the side of my face. He screams louder. I hear a loud cracking noise.

I let go.

He collapses to the ground.

The crowd around us is completely silent. I am soaking with blood and with sweat. I watch him not move for several minutes. I think I dislocated his shoulder. He gets up on his feet. What is he? Jesus?

The punch he delivers to my face was hard. It was like he had brass knuckles on. I stagger backwards, my foot landing on a rusty nail. I am stopped by a pillar. My blood was on it. I feel him pick me up, the nail barely hanging from the bottom of my foot. He throws me onto an old table. I slide down the table like in those old western movies in a saloon. I lay there, not moving. Every bone in my body is begging me to stop. The nail is out of my foot, but it felt like it was still there. I open my eyes—

His fist comes driving into my stomach. The table collapses. I felt blood fly out of my mouth. Another fist strikes at my throat. I gag. I gasp for air, coughing up spit and blood. Before his foot came stomping down onto me, I manage to roll out of the way. I start to walk—more like limp—away from him.

"Hey! Don't you quit on me now!" he yells, blood spraying from his mouth. "Don't you walk away from me!"

My father told me that. I did walk away.

I got a frying pan to my head.

I continue to move away from him. From him and my father.

"HIT ME!" he yells.

I turn around and punch him right in the face. I spun, and I give him a Phoenix strike against his throat. He starts coughing heavily. I kick him back and then roundhouse kick him in the head. He catches my on coming fist.

For some reason, I was expecting a frying pan.

But we end up wrestling on the ground. Fists and kicks flying. He keeps pulling my hair. I keep punching him in the gut. I claw at him, my fingernails digging into his flesh. God did my chest hurt. The beast inside of me is tearing me apart. But it felt good. Though I am destroying myself, I feel the anger come out of me. At one point, as we beat the ever living daylights out of each other, he crushes my left ankle, and I scream out in pain. His rough jeans scrape against my thighs and legs.

I want to go to sleep.

I sit on his stomach, and gave him another punch to the mouth. Teeth are still intact. I pin his wrists to the floor. I have him pinned. I feel tears leak from my eyes. He was breathing heavily. I wasn't a fighter. I was a monster.

I'm starting to turn into my father. I didn't want to be a monster.

I get off of him slowly, and stagger backwards like I was drunk. I fall back onto my bottom, my face stained with sin, but the sin is covered up by the sweat, blood, and tears. He walks up to me, his face looking like the Devil's. I can see the rage in his eyes.

_The frying pan just smacked me in the face, and I topple to the ground, hitting my head against the kitchen counter on the way down. I started to crawl to my mother. I got up, and try to take on my father, but he just struck me again with the blunt object to the stomach. I flew back into the wall. The shelf above me comes crashing down onto my head. I black out to the sound of my mother screaming._

Just before his foot strikes me, I scream, "STOP!"

He stops, his foot coming down slowly to his side. I look up at him. How did he not have a black eye? How am I still alive?

"Please," I whisper. "Please, stop."

The silence was bothering me. I am covered in blood. I don't think I've ever been this bloody before.

"THAT'S THE END!" Ring Master yells as he came over to me. He kneels down beside me. The room is dead silent except for my breathing. It sounds like I've been smoking for the eighteen years that I've existed. I was afraid that everyone will hear the sound of my heart rapping against my chest, ready to burst out and bleed with the rest of my torn up limbs. I'm not even aware of Ring Master who is trying to talk to me. "Come on, babe; let's get you to the locker room."

"I can't move my ankle," I whisper. It was swollen; it looks like a basketball was inserted into me. It was turning a sick purple. Ring Master scoops me up in his arms. I put my head against his shoulder.

"No one move, please!" Ring Master yells. That is right in my ear again. "I have to tell you about next week!" We exit the room, and he carries me down to the locker room. We hear applause and cheering coming from room. They were chanting my name. I start crying softly. "It'll be okay. You're _done_."

He tells me that I was a beast. I smell like a beast.

Shower.

I need a shower. He brings me to the shower room, and I just tell him to set me on the ground. I need to rest. He turns on the shower for me. I love the cold water as it rushed out of the shower head. I watched the red stream flow down the drain.

"My God, Kai," Ring Master says as he leans against the entrance to the shower, "what came over you?"

I shake my head. I have no idea.

"That's probably one of the best fights I've ever seen. I mean, it was short, but I've never seen you so angry before."

Thanks.

"You did amazing, Kai."

Thanks.

"But don't pull that stunt when new people are here. I think you mortified them."

Good. Reality isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

He pulls out a first-aid kit from under the sink, and starts to wrap up my ankle in an ace bandage.

"I'll be back in a second, okay?"

I nod.

"Thanks, Axel," I say, trying my best to give him a smile. He nods and gives me his mischievous crooked smile. He kisses the top of my wet head and leaves. Though he may be crazy, he's my friend. He is the one of the ones that I can trust.

The locker room door opens. I hear footsteps walk around for a while, until they stop at me. Sora is looking down at me. I scoot over, and pat down on the wet tile. He comes over and sits down. I watch his blood wash away. We didn't say anything. I want to sleep. My eyelids kept drooping, but I force them open. My knuckles are raw and bloody. My foot still has the small puncture wound from the nail. I start to wash it with bottle of body wash that is in the corner of the shower.

I tell him I need to get changed. I was thinking of checking into a motel tonight so that I didn't have to go home. He looks over at me. His stormy blue eyes had calmed down, and now they are a vast peaceful ocean. He picks me up, and sets me down next to my bag. He hands me many white towels. I start to dry off.

I start to cry again.

He sits down next to me and places an arm around me.

"You did very well, Kairi," he whispers as he strokes my wet hair. "You did extremely well. I think you managed to pop my shoulder out of place. Roxas had to relocate it."

Roxas's mom was a nurse. She taught him how to do that.

"Why are you crying?"

He is now kneeling down in front of me, looking up at me.

"I'm a monster," I choke.

"Were you fighting him?"

I nod.

"Is he still there?"

I shake my head, my hair spraying water like a sprinkler.

"You're not a monster, Kai," he says. He stands up. He puts his cool lips against my forehead. It sends a tingle down my spine. I shudder a little. With his lips remaining on my forehead, he adds, "You're a fighter." He kept kissing my forehead like I was a genie in a lamp.

Sorry, Sora, but I can't grant you three wishes. I'm not a miracle worker. I'm not God. I'm the reject with the blue eyes that are supposed to stand for truth. I am far from the truth.

"You did well," he tells me again. "You don't have to fight anymore."

But I want to. It's the only thing that allows me to be free. I was allowed to express my anger. He wipes away a tear that was falling.

I can't go home. Mom will flip.

"Come home with me tonight. My parents are out of town. Can you drive?"

I nod. It was my left ankle that hurt, not my right.

"Just tell your mom that you got into a car accident. It happens."

Oh, I'll tell her that a dog attacked me.

I got mugged.

Or I just fought my best friend thinking he was Dad.

"I'm not going to give up," I say through gritted teeth. Sora tilts his head to the side. "I can't. Not yet."

"You need rest."

I want to sleep.

After I change back into my regular clothes, I stuff the wet clothes that are wrapped up in towels in my bag. I check to see if I have my pajamas and I did. Sora has a scratch down his chest. It looks like a bear mauled him. I see a bruise appear on his cheekbone. There was a red mark across his nose; his lips look swollen. Yet, he still looked good.

"You did well," he reminds me again. "I'm proud of you. You're not a monster."

I say goodbye to Ring Master on the way out. As I get into my car, I pull out Glove Boxed Jesus. I place the rosary around my rearview mirror. Sora backs his silver Volvo out of the space. Jesus seems to be pleased with something. Maybe it was because I just got my butt kicked, and it was a lesson that I needed to be taught.

Blah, blah, blah.

What lesson are you talking about?

_You're not like your father, _Jesus says.

I have his genes.

_But you're not him. I created you in my own image—_

So you did see what happened tonight. You're a spy.

_But you're not a monster. You stopped. Your father didn't. _

I'm not a monster then.

_I just said you weren't—_

It was statement, not a question. Maybe I should place you back in the glove box.

Jesus glares me as I turn onto Righter Street. I cut the engine when I turn into Sora's driveway. I kiss the rosary before exiting my car, and began hopping up the driveway with my bag until Cameron came to help me. It was one in the morning.

_Sleep, my child, _Jesus says. _Your soul needs rest. You deserve it. _

Sora helps me into the guest room. He bows like a gentleman, and left me alone. After I change into my pajamas, I crawl into bed and snuggle in the cold sheets.

The beast inside of me relaxes, and eventually falls asleep.

I still felt like a monster. But an invisible monster. I know that I exist, but it's hard to spot me out in the crowd. I close my eyes, and think of what just happened in the past few hours. I defeated my father. I mauled the crap out of Sora. I find out that Jesus is watching me wherever I go. Before I know it, sleep takes over me, and I'm out.

* * *

This was an assignment I had to do for my Creative Writing class. We had to do a rough draft of anything. I was reading _Fight Club _(and still am), and I got inspired to do a spin off on it. Of course, I changed the names, but I wanted to know what you guys thought of this. We're learning how to steal author's style, and I attempted to try and still Chuck P.'s. style. I'll tell you, it's not easy, because he puts my literary writings to complete shame. This story would be cool if it was a chapter story, but it's **only a one-shot. **But this was so much fun to write.

I hope you guys enjoyed it!

DivineRose2392


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